_"How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood."_
When the news of the battle reached Katherine, she was still alone.
Griffith had not completed the task set, and was still in the tent
of the irascible General, whose chief acquaintance with the English
language appeared to lie in his explosive and ever ready profanity. He
swore if things went right, and he swore if they went wrong. If he liked
a man, he swore at him playfully, and if he disliked him, he swore at
him in wrath. His ammunition might give out, but a volley of oaths was
never wanting to fire at the enemy. It sometimes seemed to Griffith
the irony of fate that he should be placed in the same tent and closely
associated with such a man, for, although Griffith said nothing, it
grated sadly upon his ears, and he sometimes wondered if the Almighty
would prosper an expedition led by this man, for Griffith had kept
still, through all the years the primitive idea of a personal God who
takes cognizance of the doings of men, and meets and parries them by
devices and schemes of His own.
As time went on, and Lengthy Patterson recovered from his wound so as
to be always in evidence, he came in for a large share of the General's
explosive and meaningless oaths. Sometimes it was half in fun, more
often it was in memory of the fact that Lengthy had ignored him and his
questions upon their first meeting, and that up to this day the lank
mountaineer took his orders and his cue from Griffith only. He had
attached himself to the sharpshooters and rarely left Griffith's side.
As silent and faithful as a dog he rode day after day, with watchful
eyes, by the side of or just behind "the Parson," as he still called the
object of his adoration. He watched Griffith narrowly. He noticed the
growing sadness of the old-time merry face. He felt that something was
wrong. At last the silence could be preserved no longer, he must know
what the trouble was. They were near the borders of the county where
Griffith's old home was. Lengthy had expected to see his face grow
interested and bright, but instead there seemed to come over it a drawn
and haggard look that was a puzzle and a torment to the woodsman. He
ventured a remark as they rode apart from the rest. "Sick?"
"No, no, Lengthy. I'm not sick. Why?"
"Yeh never talk no mo'. Heard yeh kinder groan.
Few-words-comprehends-th'-whole." Griffith turned his face full upon
him.
"Lengthy, it is almost more than I can bear to do this work. I--it
is--sometimes I think I _cannot_ take them over there." He held out his
hand toward the beautiful valley in the distance. They could see the
thread of the river winding through the trees and out into field and
farm. It was the river in which Lengthy had seen this friend of his
baptized, so many years ago, when both were young men, and now both were
growing gray!
Lengthy made no reply. The silence stretched into minutes. They halted
for the noon meal and to feed and rest the horses. They all lay about on
the hill, and Griffith talked to the engineers. They drew lines and
made figures and notes. An hour later they pushed on toward the river.
Lengthy and Griffith rode in front. The old mill where Pete had run away
appeared in the distance. The river was very near now. A heavy sigh from
Griffith broke the silence. He was looking far ahead and his face was
drawn and miserable.
"What d' yeh go fer?"
Griffith did not hear. His chin had dropped upon his breast, and his
face was pale. His lips moved, and the mountaineer waited. At last he
said: "What yeh do hit fer?"
"What?"
"What yeh do hit fer,'f yeh don't want teh?"
"Do what? Go here?"
"Yeh?"
"I am a Union man, Lengthy. The President sent for me and asked me to do
it. He made me see it was my duty. There was no one else he could trust,
who knew the country. I----"
There was a long pause. The mountaineer threw his leg up over the front
of his saddle, and ruminated on the new outlook. Presently Griffith went
on: "Some one _must_ do it, but--"
He lifted his face toward the blue above him; "Oh, my God, if this cup
could but pass from _me!!_" he groaned aloud. "It seems to me I cannot
cross that river! It seems to me I _cannot!_" His voice broke and there
was silence.
"Don't need teh'."
Griffith did not hear. His eyes were closed and he was praying for light
and leading, as he would have called it--for strength to do the dreaded
task, if it must be done. Lengthy looked at him, and then at the not far
distant river, and waited in silence. A half mile farther on he said, as
if the chain of remarks had been unbroken: "Don't need teh cross. I will
fer yeh."
"What?" cried Griffith, like a man who has heard and is afraid to
believe.
"Said yeh didn't need teh cross. I will fer yeh.
Few-words-comprehends-th'-whole," he repeated, in the same level key,
looking straight at his horse's ears.
Griffith's bridle fell upon his horse's neck. Both arms lifted
themselves up, and both hands spread as if to grasp something. "Oh, my
God, is my prayer to be answered so soon? Do you mean--oh, Lengthy,
do you mean that you will save me from this terrible trial? Do you
mean----"
"I does." He was gazing straight ahead of him now, with elaborate
pretense of indifference. He had begun to grasp the situation.
Griffith dropped both hands upon his uplifted face, and a cry as of one
in great pain escaped him, "O-h-h," in a long quaver. The mountaineer
turned his eyes. Griffith was looking straight at him now, like a hunted
man who at last sees hope and rescue ahead, but dares not trust it lest
it prove but an illusion. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him.
The mountaineer understood.
"Yeh kin go home. I'll do hit. Few words----"
Griffith was overtaken with hysterics. He threw both arms above his head
and shouted, "Glory to God in the highest! Peace and good will to men!"
and covered his face with his hands to hide the emotion he could not
control.
They were on the banks of the river now, and the commander dashed up.
"What in hell's the matter now?" he demanded.
"Hit's the river done it," put in the mountaineer, to save his friend
the need of words. "Baptized thar."
"What? What in the devil are you talking about? What in----"
He was looking at Griffith, but Lengthy broke in again with his
perfectly level and emotionless voice. "Baptized thar, I sez.
Few-words-comprehends-th'--"
"Will you dry up? You infernal-- What does this mean?" He turned again to
Griffith, who had regained his self-control. The commander usually acted
upon him as a refrigerator, so incapable was he of understanding human
emotion that reached beyond the limits of irritability.
"General," he began, slowly, "I have just arranged with Mr. Patterson
for him to take my place as Government Guide. I can go with you no
farther. That house over there in the distance"--he stretched out his
hand--"used to be my old home. I love the people who live here--all
about here. This river----"
A volley of oaths interrupted Griffith. The command had come up, and the
staff-officers sat listening and waiting. The General was changing his
first outburst into arguments. Griffith met them quite calmly. It seemed
a long time now since he had found the relief he felt. It did not seem
possible that it was only ten minutes ago that it had come to him.
"This man knows the country even better than I do, General. He is
willing to go--to take my place--and he is perfectly loyal--_loyal to
me_. He will--what Mr. Lincoln wanted was that the work should be done,
and done by one he could trust--it was not that he wanted _me_ to do it.
I will stake my honor on this man's fidelity. He--" The word "deserter,"
mingled with threats, struck Griffith's ear; he did not pause to analyze
it. "Mr. Lincoln told me that I was to return to him whenever I----"
"God damn Mr. Lincoln! _I_ am in command of these troops! Mr. Lincoln
didn't know he was giving me a couple of lunatics to deal with! If you
attempt to leave you will be shot as a deserter, I tell you! I'll do
it myself, by God!" Griffith's head dropped against his breast. He
dismounted slowly and handed his bridle to the mountaineer. Lengthy
hooked it over his arm and waited. Mr. Davenport deliberately knelt by
the bank of the river, with his face toward the old home.
"Shoot. I will go no farther!" he said, and closed his eyes.
Instantly the mountaineer's gun went to his shoulder. His aim was at the
General's breast. "Few-words-comprehends-th'-whole," he said, and the
hammer clicked. The General smiled grimly.
"Get up," he said. "I had no right to make that threat. You are a
private citizen. You came of your own accord. You _are_ under Lincoln
only. Get up! Can we trust this man, damn him?"
Griffith staggered to his feet. The storm had left him weak and pale.
The mountaineer dismounted and stood beside him.
"You mean to take my place in good faith--to lead them right--I know,
Lengthy; but tell him so _for me_," Griffith asked, in a tired voice,
taking the swarthy hand in his. "You will do your best as a guide in my
place, won't you?"
Lengthy's response was unequivocal. "I will," he said in his monotonous
tone, and somehow, as they stood hand in hand with the curious group
of men about them, the reply reminded every one of the response in the
marriage service, and a smile ran around as the men glanced at each
other.
"You promise to do all in your knowledge and power to enable them to get
accurate knowledge and make their maps, don't you, Lengthy?"
"I do."
The similitude struck even the commander, and when Griffith turned, the
irascible General was trying to cover a smile.
"Are you satisfied, General? I will stake my life on both his capacity
to do it--even better than I--and on his honor when he promises to do it
for me. Are you satisfied?"
"Have to be satisfied, I guess. Mount! March!"
Griffith lifted the hard, brown, rough hand in both of his and gravely
kissed it. "You are the truest friend I ever had, Lengthy. God bless and
protect you! Good-bye."
The mountaineer laid the great hand on the palm of its fellow, and
looked at it gravely as he rode.
"Kissed it, by gum!" He gazed at the spot in silent awe.
"Few-words-comp-----" His voice broke, and he rode away at the head of
the command, still holding the sacred hand on the palm of the one not so
consecrated, and looked at it from time to time with silent, reverential
admiration. His gun lay across his saddle, and the horse took the ford
as one to the manner born. On the farther bank he turned and looked
back. Griffith waved his handkerchief, and every man in the command
joined in the salute when Lengthy's shout rang out, "Three cheers for
the Parson!"
Even the General's hat went up, and Griffith rode back alone over the
path he had but just come, alone--and unguarded--but with a great load
lifted from his shoulders, bound for Washington to make his final report
to the President, and then return to the ways and haunts of peace.
"Homeward bound! homeward bound! thank God!" he said, aloud, "with
life's worst and hardest duty done. Surely, surely, my part of this
terrible straggle is over! It has shadowed me for twenty long years. The
future shall be free. Peace has come for me at last!"